


The Book of Flowers

by this_is_the_end



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I have a lot of violence planned, M/M, Major death eventually, Multi, probably eventual smut too, tags will change accordingly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_the_end/pseuds/this_is_the_end
Summary: I know where the winged visions dwell
  
  That around the night-bed play;
  
  I know each herb and flowerets bell,
  
  where they hide their wings by day.
  
  Then hasten we, maid,
  
  To twine our braid,
  
  To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.

Alaina Lavellan never wanted the title of Inquisitor. She never wanted any of this - but Fate has an odd way of working, doesn't it?





	1. Carnations (Fascination)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MidnightWolf697](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightWolf697/gifts).



> this story will be composed completely of little snippets and shorts. The chapters will not be very long and some of them might not even tie into the previous one. I'm just using this as a place to post most of my headcanons for Alaina and Cullen. So, here we go. (Gifted to MidnightWolf697 because she is amazing and helps me with all of my headcanons and planning. She's truly awesome.)

The snow was cold against her skin. In places, it was mixed with ashes, smeared, and tainted into a grey paste. In others, it was pure red with blood of enemies and comrades fallen. The valley stank of rotting corpses and demons falling from the sky – the green reflected off the snow turned everything into a haze. The mark on her hand pulsed, fire shooting through her veins. 

“Herald of Andraste” was not an uncommon prayer on dying lips. It was not an uncommon last plea – a breath of air and the last sliver of hope leaving a body. She had been turned into a new deity of a culture that she was not even a part of. She was being worshipped as the Herald of a God she did not even believe in.

“Does this mean you do not believe?” the pain across the Seeker’s face was enough to plant a lie on her tongue. It was enough to make her become something she was not – _hold your head high, little one; they are afraid of courage._ She told them lie after lie and became something she was not – all through words she did not speak. Common was not one of her languages but Solas – trust was not a word applied to him – translated. She could not tell if he altered her words. She did not trust his unmarked face.

She learned quickly in the weeks following the Conclave. Not because it was something she desired, no, but because it was a necessity. Her culture was being erased from right in front of her – she was being forced to adapt to the Shem culture and learn their ways while they still blatantly ignored hers. She did not want to learn Common but Solas gave her little choice.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” She did not want to. She did not want to be the sole survivor and she did not want this fate sewn upon her tapestry. She did not want to be the only one that could seal the rift in the sky. Her hand was a hole of its own and her heart had many wounds left to heal. She was alone and she was destined to fail – 

“None made _quite_ the entrance you did.” And she is captured in those eyes, witty line falling from her tongue before she can stop it. 

“At least I got everyone’s attention.”

“That you did.” Then, her breath is stolen by the cocky _smirk_ of a man that has played this game – of a man spurned and hurt and _broken_ just like her. It is the smile that captures her completely and it is the smile that keeps her by his side. It is the smile that makes her forget what he is.

Templar is a word that she had thought meant _evil_. Looking at the men gathered in Haven, she sees no shortage of ex-templars among the ranks. Cullen is one of them and _Dread Wolf take her_ she is beginning to doubt her Keeper. With every smile, she waits for the mythical fangs to emerge, waits for him to lunge at her and chain her magic. With every kind, gentle glance, she waits. She watches. She is _fascinated_ and knows deep in her heart that that is not a word she should use in regards to a Templar. 

She can feel herself falling to his charms and knows that her Keeper would be greatly disappointed in her.

“Forgive me, I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but if you have one prepared I would love to hear it.” She gives him her first genuine smile – it feels odd on her lips for a moment, that smile – and his eyes light up. 

“I, ah…” His cheeks flush pink and her smile widens. She giggles to herself as he turns away to return to work. She watches him go, smile still on her face.

_Dread Wolf, what has she gotten herself into?_


	2. Red Lotus Bleeds into Aster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I get most of my flower meanings from Wikipedia, in case any of you wanted to check. I pick the meaning that fits my chapter the best. Also, personal headcanon that will likely play a part in this story: elf ears twitch, droop, perk up - like dog ears.)

_The Red Lotus is related to the heart, and the Lotus flower meaning is associated with that of compassion. Aster is a symbol of trust._

He is a red lotus, blooming against the cold of the Frostbacks. He is a red lotus of hope and compassion pressed harshly underneath the mounds of snow. He is the shield that will insure that this Inquisition _will not fall_.

He is every blood stain against the snows of Haven as it burns and drowns. 

~~

His anger is a different shade of red. It is deeper and it is many layers of _how could he let this happen_. He blames himself and his fists are slamming against the stone before she can stop him. He blames himself and her words are only a sugar-coating against the guilt twisted tightly into his gut. She tries; she is purple Aster against his ugly Lotus wounds and she is _trust me please_ against his tired skin. 

They fall together at the feet of the gravestones of their fallen men and her hand is pressed against his before he can think. She is a gentle shift towards him, grip tightening and her pointed ear barely brushing his cheek. She is the words _We will fight on_ and she is the promise that their deaths will not be in vain. 

~~

Her presence is calming purple. She is a gentle light against his dark thoughts and she is a gentle touch against cold skin. She is a pulse of stability against his crumbling veins and dried out lungs. The Lyrium – or lack thereof – threatens to crush him but she is a simple purple flower, pushing it all away. 

She is a smile when people need it most. She is their beloved and she is their hope – as much as she may not want that responsibility. He can see the wear it has taken on her, he can see it bending her shoulders inward. He watches as more lines form under her eyes and then he realizes.

He comes to her in the garden one day. She is bent over Elfroot, crooning to it in Elvhen. He recognizes a few words but tries not to let that show on his face – he wants that to be a surprise. From behind his back, he pulls out a flower. Her expression falters momentarily before she seeks his eyes, her thoughts unreadable.

“I saw it and thought of you.” He speaks simply. A small smile picks at the corners of her mouth as she reaches out and takes the borage flower out of his hand. Her fingers are covered in dirt. 

“Do you believe that flowers have meanings, Cullen?” Her eyes have not left the flower but the tips of her ears have twitched several times.

“I suppose.”

“And do you know what this flower means?” Her bright green eyes flicker up to his and the smirk is still on her lips and _Maker_ she is a sight. 

“I do not.”

She smirks and lets a fragment of laughter fall from her lips then. She cradles the flower in her palm before taking a single step towards him, holding it up between them. She takes a moment before she tucks it in the curls of her hair, right behind her ear.

“It means courage.” Her voice is gentle, her arm still bent back as she fits the flower perfectly into her locks. He watches, transfixed.

“Then I suppose I chose correctly.” The shock that flickers across her face is completely unfiltered. He smiles at her. “You are the most courageous woman I know, Alaina.”

The name falls between them, lighter than the title _Inquisitor_. Her eyes never leave his.

“I owe you a flower in return, Cullen.” Her accent twists his name _just so_ and he feels his heart stutter. A smirk finds his lips and he hears the sharp breath hiss through her teeth, just slightly louder than the wind.

“So you do.”


	3. Cypress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cypress - a flower that symbolizes death, mourning, and sorrow.

The snow was all-consuming. It was suffocating her one icy breath at a time – breaths she hissed in through cracked ribs and bruised muscles. It was the icy wind chilling her to her core and it was her armor hanging in tatters around her. It was ice forming on her eyelashes and on her fingertips – she couldn’t tell the difference between her magic or nature any longer. 

She forced herself to take each painful step forward – she had to – and she somehow managed to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Her mark hissed and sputtered to life, searing pain coursing through her veins. A rift broke open in front of her and Despair demons poured from its depths. Their chilled presence was every dead soul under the crushing weight of Haven. She fell to her knees, sob crashing through her chest just as a massive pulse of Fade poured from her hand.

The demons vanished and the rift pulled closed. She shivered on the floor of the cave, sobs wracking her body. The mark hissed in the silence, pulsing green against the tatters of her robes. She pressed her fingertips to the exposed skin at her ribs, wrapping her arms around her torso tightly. She didn’t look at the mark again. 

The snow crunched under her bare feet but she pressed ever onward. The tears froze to her cheeks and she had long since lost feeling in the majority of her body. Still, she forced her gaze forward. She forced her gaze past the memories snapping their way into her skull – she tried to see past the delirium setting in.

_“Hold your head high, little one – they are afraid of courage.” Her mother was standing beside her, long blonde hair tumbling around her in waves. Alaina stared up at her with reverence, her older brother by her side. He clutched her hand in his, dark hair stuck up in all directions. His jaw was set rigid as stone._

_“What if – what if I can’t do it, Mamae?” Alaina’s voice was small, a trembling leaf blown away by the wind. Her mother laboriously crouched down on her knees, hands resting on her swollen stomach before they reached out to take Alaina’s._

_“You will not – you are a Borage flower blooming in this chaos, Da’Len.” Her smile was gentle and loving, her eyes a bright blue that compared to the sky. Alaina loved that their eyes matched. “No test can break you, Da’Len.”_

_“Just get it over with, kid. It’s painless.” Myrdden grumbled beside them both. Without even moving her eyes from Alaina, their mother reached up and clipped him on the side of the ear. He yelped and lurched away, ears drooping as he glared at her._

_“Encourage her, Myrdden. Her magic is new to her.” Alaina looked as though she was about to cry, tears bubbling over the edge of her over-large eyes. Myrdden looked at her and, in a moment of hesitation, let out a huff of a breath._

_“You’ll do fine, Queeny.” He smirked at her nickname and she threw herself into his arms, laughing loudly._

_“Go show them what you are made of, Da’Len.” Her mother whispered. Alaina tore herself from Myrdden’s arms and –_

And she was spiraling down a hill, rolling in the snow. Her body was too hard to move, each breath hurt – she _couldn’t_. Her poisonous green eyes glowed against the dark, against the nothing that surrounded her. Her mark was buried under the snow, she thought, though she was not sure where any of her limbs were. She had to – they were counting on her, she had to –

_“Get up.” Myrdden was at her side. Elaith and Erudice were beside her as well, two years old and barely able to walk on their own. Alaina didn’t ask questions as she took the twins hands in hers and followed their brother into the dark. Erudice asked a question once, innocent dark eyes looking up to meet hers. Elaith followed with a joke of her own and the two melted into laughter. Alaina never took her eyes off Myrdden’s back._

_“Where are we going, brother?” She ignored the tremble in her voice. He ignored her. Erudice ran up and took his hand with laughter floating through the trees. Alaina realized that they had left the camp, that they had left their parents behind in their tents. She said nothing, her trust placed fully in Myrdden. He ignored her still._

_They came to a clearing after several long minutes of walking. Elaith was now on Alaina’s hip, complaining of sore feet. Erudice bit his lip, tough like his brother. His hand was tight around Alaina’s._

_“Brother, why have you –”_

_“Mother warned us.” He whispered. Alaina peered around his larger form to see a cluster of Cypress blooms poking through the grass of the clearing. She nearly dropped Elaith. “She said that if these ever bloomed that we were to tell the Keeper and that we were to –”_

_“Why in the Creator’s names did you bring the twins for this, Myrdden?” The venom in her voice made Erudice jump. Elaith had fallen asleep on her shoulder. Myrdden’s cold brown eyes stayed fixated on the flowers.  
_

_“I’m not going to tell the Keeper.”_

_“Myrdden!” Alaina smacked him harshly on the arm. Erudice moved closer to them both, trying to see what was beyond. Alaina turned to him with a smile plastered on her face. “Go play in the clearing, little one. We must speak alone.”_

_“But –”_

_“Do as I say, please Erudice.” He turned without further complaint. Elaith stirred and joined him in joyous laughter, chasing him around the clearing. Alaina smacked Myrdden again on the arm._

_“Creators, Myrdden. What in Mythal’s name –”_

_“They can’t be sheltered forever, Queeny.”_

_“They’re two years old, Myrdden.” She was hissing at him, ice forming at her fingertips. He took her hand in his own without flinching and the ice stopped. His eyes were still on the flowers._

_“That flower means death, Alaina. Mamae said that when it came, it meant misfortune for the entire clan.” His voice shook but she ignored it in honor of his pride. “We are happy here. I am not telling the Keeper.”_

_“What about Mamae?” She resigned herself to the fact that he would not budge. His hand tightened around hers and his fingers dug into her skin. She leaned against his side, her head falling onto his shoulder. His dark hair mixed oddly with her pale tresses._

_“Not her, either. The clan cannot know.” He paused. “Burn the flower, Queeny.”_

_“Not with the twins here, Myrdden. They should not have come anyway.” She pulled away and looked over her shoulder at the giggling siblings. Currently, Elaith was pushing Erudice down and threatening to braid his hair. Her logic was that once the new children came, she would leave him alone. Erudice consented with a pout on his face._

_“I will not tell them.” Myrdden agreed. “Not if you burn the flower.”_

_His dark eyes met her own and she bit her lip. She nodded and lowered her gaze back to the cluster of red and white.  
“Take them back to the camp. I will do as you ask.”_

_Alaina did not turn as he gathered the twins. She did not look back as she heard them leave – she did not take her eyes from the flowers. Fire found her fingertips and the flowers burned. Fire coursed through her veins and in its wake was left a pile of –_

“Embers? Recent?” Alaina tried to ignore the misplaced hope that leapt in her heart. Her wounds had reopened and her blood was mixed with the snow – her mark was bright green against the white but her blood was diluting it. Her every breath was _pain_ as she trudged through the snow and finally, _finally_ , someone called out to her. She fell into the snow, voices surrounding her, and finally black claimed her.

_“Hold your head high, Queeny – they’re afraid of Elves even more than courage.”_


	4. Amaryllis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Amaryllis flower is symbolic of Pride.

“You,” She smirks, “are an Amaryllis flower.”

Solas stared at her blankly for a moment. “And how is that, Lethallin?”

She doesn’t reply at first. She stares at the book of Common perched in her lap and she is silent. She twists a single curl around her fingertip – the elfroot tattoo in the shell of her ear is pronounced in this light. She bites her lip before she replies, finally. 

“You are filled with pride for the People, of what once was. You are proud of your magic and of who and what you are – mage, elf, teacher.” Her eyes flicker up to meet his. “You are not afraid to bloom and show your true colors.”

“And what has brought on this sudden observation, Lethallin?” He flips a page in his book, eyes still locked with hers. “As I remember, you are supposed to be studying your Common.”

She does not reply. Her head falls and she again looks to the words in her lap. Her finger still twirls through her curl as she studies, her breath an even and matching rhythm with his own. He was not paying attention to his book any longer. 

“You have not seen my true colors, Inquisitor.” His voice was barely above a whisper. She looks up with childish eyes, filled with hope and life. Her expression is blank for a moment before a brilliant smile finds her lips. Her finger has stopped twirling.

“I have seen more than you may think.” Her smile is genuine and kind but her words pierce fear straight into his heart for the briefest of moments. He does not let this fear cross his face. Instead, his nose scrunches up into something resembling offense, he supposes.

“You must be a remarkably adept reader then, da’len.” Her smile has not faltered.

“Or, you are an incredibly open book, Solas.”

And she has him there. He falters in his expression just enough that her smile widens as she turns back to her book. She does not raise her hand to twist her hair any longer. Instead, she thumps her fingers in an abstract rhythm against the pages and spine of the text.


	5. Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elderflower is the flower symbolic of compassion. Borage is symbolic of Courage.  
> (Pink Rose will be explained later)

“You do not know what flower you are.” Cole is beside her, crouched next to the new bed of Borage she is planting. She does not jump at his presence as she used to and instead she greets him with a kind smile.

“You’re right.” Is her simple reply. His brow furrows under the large brim of his hat as he seems to weigh her answer. She gestures to a shovel and he hands it to her willingly. “What flower do you think I am, Cole?”

“No, that is not for me to choose.” He shakes his head. His eyes have fallen to the flowerbed in front of them. She digs her hands into the dirt, planting another seedling. “That is for him to give you.”

Her hands falter and she hears her breath hitch. 

“Him?” She asks. Her voice betrays her.

“Borage is _now_ but that is because he is afraid, too.” Cole leans back on his heels. “He will give you a new flower later. It will be different.”

Her eyes flicker away from the dirt to the pavilion where the Commander sits, smirk proudly on his lips as Dorian studies the chess pieces in front of them with an exasperated manner about him. Her heart stops suddenly.

“Everyone has a different flower for one another, Cole.” She looks back at the boy. “What would you have me be?”

He contemplates this for a moment, rolling back and forth on his heels. She goes back to planting, waiting for his response. It comes a few minutes later, as she hears Cullen and Dorian’s laughter fill the courtyard. She looks up and cannot help the smile she feels creep across her lips.

“Pink rose.”

Cole’s response is simple and it is true, but she looks at him as if he has just shot an arrow through her. Her whole body shakes as she recoils, falling back on the grass. Her breaths are uneven. 

“You – _Cole_ –” She tries to grab his sleeve, wanting more of an explanation. He is gone in a moment and she hears footsteps coming closer. She looks up to see a concerned expression above her and she does her best to plaster on a mask. 

“Are you all right, dear?” Dorian crouches beside her, offering her a hand. She takes it, dirt smearing across his skin.

“Something like that.” She whispers. She stands and dusts herself off, abandoning her garden. Cullen approaches next, the same expression of worry on his face. Her cheeks burn and Dorian smiles knowingly. 

“Inquisitor -”

“I’m all right, truly.” She knows her words are not convincing. “Cole, he just – he just wanted to know what flower he was.”

At this, Cullen lets himself smirk. She thinks of the Borage, too. “And what did you say?”

“He is Elderflower.” She picks at the dirt on her fingers, underneath her nails. She does not meet Cullen’s eyes because she can feel the tips of her ears burning bright. “He is compassion.”

“Fitting.” Dorian replies with a sarcastic lilt to his voice. “And, tell me, what flower are _you_ , Alaina?” He elbows her in the side. She yelps and glares at him before she whirls in a wave of blonde hair and gathers her gardening tools in a flurry of motion. Cullen watches her go in a daze.


	6. Humility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Broom flower (what a horrible name) is symbolic of Humility.

They play a game of chess and he wins. She isn’t shocked and the smile on his face is worth it. The look in his eyes, even more so. He notes that this is the longest they’ve gone without speaking of the world shattering around them. He says they should play more often and she agrees with burning red ears and a skipping heart.

On the battlements, he is a changed man. She can see something lingering in the weight of his shoulders, something that is pulling him down. She gently asks about the losses at Haven – it has been a few months now, but the wound is still left gaping for them both – and he evades her question. The hurt is deeper, then, she concludes. Cole does not give her any answers – “He will give you a flower later” – and he is gone.

In his tower, he is silent. His voice is gentle and it is reserved. She does not see the laughing man in the pavilion any longer – the same something that has twisted into his muscles has also twisted into his laughter. She tries to make him smile and for a while, she is the only one that can. Varric jokes that maybe _his_ nickname should have been Chuckles. Her eyes linger on him far longer than they used to and she knows it is because there are demons brewing under his skin. 

She comes back after weeks in the Hissing Wastes to find him and Cassandra arguing. She suggests that maybe Alaina is the only one that can make him see sense – she does not make a sound as she climbs the stairs to his tower, still dirty and clad in the armor from her travels. 

“As leader of the Inquisition –” He hesitates and the words choke in his throat. She takes a step closer, concern written clearly on her face. “There is something you should know.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Cullen.” He is hunched over his desk above a box of instruments and she can feel the lyrium humming there. Her eyes flicker from it to him and the pain she sees there pains her in return. 

He explains, then, in words meant to guard his emotions. He explains of Templars and lyrium and once again her Keeper’s warnings flare in the back of her mind. He explains and with each word, his voice hurts more. “I… am no longer taking Lyrium.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, for the gravity of it to hit her bones. “You stopped?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.” He still has not looked up from the vials in the box. She moves slowly, resting her hands over his on the table. He looks up in a startled manner, eyes meeting hers. Their faces are inches apart. 

“If this can kill you, Cullen –”

“It hasn’t yet.” Those words are determination that is set deep in his chest. She can see it burning behind his eyes. “After what happened in Kirkwall… I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to… watch me. If I am unfit to do my duties, I will be relieved.”

He still has not moved from their position at his desk, has not taken his hands from hers. Finally, he does, standing straight against the sunlight streaming in from the window behind him. 

“Are you in pain?” Her voice is a gentle nudge against his walls he has so carefully built. She is answered with diplomacy.

“I can endure it.”

She bites her lip and looks at him carefully. She stands straight and nods. “I respect your decision, Cullen.”

“Thank you.”

Something more hangs in the air, but they dare not discuss it. He explains a bit further but the pain has returned to his eyes. She sees it now, everything that has twisted into his shoulders. She can identify it and it terrifies her that she now has a name for it. For the thing that is making him suffer.

She goes to her garden, later, and the Borage blossoms have bloomed. She cares for them gently, weakly confessing her fears to their bright petals. She moves among the plants, telling each her worries. Images of her mother once doing the same poke at the back of her mind and she does not think of the silence she has received from her clan.  


Later, she comes back to Cullen’s tower, flower in her palm behind her back.

“I owed you a flower.” She smiles. He tries to offer her one in return, but she does not wait for it. She takes the yellow flower from behind her back and gently sets it in his palm. It looks small there. 

“What does it mean?” He questions. His voice is gentle and it is kind and it is forgetting the pain for a moment. She looks up at him, smile bright on her face and emotions clear as day. They both ignore how close they have gotten, blissfully unaware. 

“Humility.” She looks back down, caressing a single petal as the flower spreads out in his palm. As she tilts her head, he notices the Borage flower tucked safely in the braids of her hair. He reaches without thinking, running his fingers over it. The blush that spreads over her face is instantaneous. That gains a genuine smirk. 

“You are strong enough, Cullen.” She reaches up and rests her hand against his cheek. “That, I can promise you.”


	7. Lily of the Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (alright so there are a lot of flower meanings to be covered in this one, so let me know if I missed any.)  
> Agrimony - Thankfulness  
> Gladiolus - Strength of character, honor, conviction  
> Lily of the Valley - returning happiness  
> Purple Lilac - First emotion of love  
> Aster - Symbol of love  
> Orchid - refined beauty  
> Yellow Tulip - Hopeless love

More flowers pass between them. She does not ask how he knows their meanings.

He gives her Agrimony first, and she knows that he is thankful for her words, for her presence. She gives him on in return but hers is pressed between the pages of a book and he does not find it for many weeks. The smile he gives her across the courtyard when he does – that is what she is thankful for.

One day, she is sitting in the grass outside the stables with Cole and Sera. He walks by with the Gladiolus flower she had set on his desk pinched between his fingers. She smiles from ear to ear as she greets him, and he smiles too. The Gladiolus somehow ends up back in her hair, tucked into a braid, and she knows then that he knows the meaning. “You are strong, too, he thinks and you are what makes him strong.”

She does not comment on Cole’s thoughts pulled from both their heads.

When she comes back from the Hinterlands weeks later, a single Lily of the Valley is resting on her pillow in her quarters. _Returning Happiness_. She stays with him in his tower for hours that night, talking frivolously. She gives him a purple lilac in a brash flare of emotions the next day and in the morning, she does not see him. 

A single Aster is tucked into her saddlebag as she leaves for the Storm Coast that afternoon. She spots him on the upper portion of Skyhold, smiling. She waves and smiles back, laughing as Dorian tugs her onto her horse. 

On the trip, she finds and orchid in her ration bag. She presses it between the pages of a spell book she had taken with her, blush coating her cheeks. It is not until the day they return that she realizes a yellow tulip had been tucked between the pages of that same book. _Hopeless Love_ and she was hopeless back.

“I was… hoping we could talk? Alone?” She had tucked another borage behind her ear. He had the pressed Agrimony and gladiolus sitting on his desk. 

“I – yes, of course.”

They walk along the battlements – a walk she had done a thousand times before but now her heart was racing and every nerve felt as though it was on fire. She hears him try and start small talk but her mind is elsewhere. 

“There was something you wished to discuss?” He rubs the back of his neck and she tries to find comfort in his nervousness as well. 

“Cullen, I care for you, and –” She let a shaking sigh push from her lips and she looks away and to her feet. Her heart is pounding now. 

“What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice is touching and her heart soars. 

“You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more? I’m Dalish – I don’t know, I -”

“I could, I mean, I do… think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation.” The borage in her hair twists in the wind. She reaches up with a shaking hand and tucks it back into place, taking a few unsure steps further on the battlements, following him. He is rubbing the back of his neck again.

“What’s stopping you?” 

“You’re the Inquisitor, we’re at war. And you… I didn’t think it was possible.” He shifts closer and his golden eyes are hers now. His hands are on either side of her against the stone, he is everything she smells and he is everything around her.

“And yet, I’m still here.” Her voice is gentle and it is a whispered addition to the wind, it is soft and it is careful. He presses closer still, their foreheads brushing. She lets her eyes fall closed, lets the golden burn of his irises be the last thing she sees and - 

“Commander!”

Her eyes snap open and she shrinks against the stone of the battlements. He turns to the scout, growling under his lion’s mane. 

“If you need to – hmmp!” His lips crash against hers and her fingers tangle into his hair and into the fur on his shoulders. His hands cradle her face, their lips part and they both are panting. He rests their foreheads together and her eyes are still shut, her body pressed flush against his. Finally, she laughs.

She giggles and kisses him once more, standing on her tip toes. He presses her against the stone with a smirk of his own against her lips. Finally, she parts, nudging her head into the crook of his neck as his arms wrap around her.

“You know, that poor scout probably pissed himself.”

“ _Maker’s breath_ , Alaina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alaina's sense of humor is totally because she hangs out with Sera all the time, let's be real.


End file.
